


Adventures of a Mer-Chaser:  Punishing Ambarys Rendar

by DirtyScrolls



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Arrest, Come Swallowing, Corporal Punishment, Dacryphilia, Dirty Talk, Dunmer (Elder Scrolls), Face Slapping, Fantastic Racism, Fighting, Hair-pulling, Hand Jobs, Humiliation, Imprisonment, Knives, M/M, Massage, Non-Consensual Kissing, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Non-Consensual Touching, Oppression, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rape With Object, Rape/Non-con Elements, Some comfort, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:14:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27972927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DirtyScrolls/pseuds/DirtyScrolls
Summary: One of the Grey Quarter’s most prominent citizens needs to learn his place.
Relationships: Male Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Ambarys Rendar, Malthyr Elenil/Ambarys Rendar
Comments: 90
Kudos: 24
Collections: Adventures of a Mer-Chaser: The Dragonborn and the Grey Quarter





	Adventures of a Mer-Chaser:  Punishing Ambarys Rendar

**Author's Note:**

> You know the drill. Please read all tags carefully. And please give me your thoughts. I really appreciate it.
> 
> Apologies for he length of this story. It just came out that way, in the end.
> 
> Feel free, also, to e-mail me at dirtyscrolls@gmail.com.

One frigid night, after a long day at Ulfric’s court, a tired and rather irritated Kordin received some motivating news from a regular at Candlehearth Hall.

The man said he’d heard the whole story from Elda Early-Dawn, who in turn had heard it from one of the guards, who had been there herself, and helped break up the—apparently quite rough--fight.

The regular was drinking large quantities of mead as he told the story, so he included far more detail than Kordin needed, but the most interesting part of the matter was clear enough--the Dunmer who owned the New Gnisis Cornerclub was, as they spoke, locked up in the Windhelm dungeon.

According to Kordin’s effusively-gesturing drinking companion, the bitter-minded mer had been coming back into the Grey Quarter from some errand, at the same time as Rolff Stone-Fist was starting his drunken nightly ritual. The two had met by the entrance to the Quarter, and--not very surprisingly--a loud brawl had ensued. 

In the end, several guards had had to stop Ambarys Rendar from bashing Stone-Fist’s face into a wall. And the grey-skin had enthusiastically resisted arrest 

Kordin smiled to himself, finished his drink as quickly as he could, and headed back to the Palace of the Kings. His head was full of imaginings of the beautiful mer in skimpy prison rags, perhaps even chained to the wall.

“Go ahead, Thane Kordin, if you want to be the one to teach him his lesson. The Jarl was going to have me send someone down to give the damned elf a good whipping. I’m sure you’ll agree he has it coming. He even dared fight the guards when they tried to take him in. If you’re volunteering...” The Captain of the Guard gave Kordin a knowing wink. “You’ll find everything you need down there. Just don’t do any permanent damage.”

“Wouldn’t think of it.”

The Captain handed his fellow Nord a heavy set of keys.

Kordin made his way through the narrow torch-lit dark stone corridors leading down to the dungeons, his body hot and almost shaky with anticipation. At the same time as he looked forward to having him at his mercy, he was almost proud of the grey-skin—Rendar was nothing if not bold. Fierce as any Nord, really. And Rolff, in Kordin’s private opinion, was a useless drunk. 

He chose an appealing-looking item from a rack of implements by the dungeon’s door, put it in his bag, then found Rendar a few cells down. There were only three other prisoners. A skooma-addled Nord woman muttered to herself. Another Nord with a scraggly beard snored and shivered on his fur bedroll. An Argonian was using a nub of charcoal to scratch something onto a parchment he had spread out on the floor. He entirely ignored Kordin.

The Dunmer wasn’t restrained, but, to the Nord’s delight, he was indeed wearing the revealing sort of tunic Kordin had pictured. It had obviously been used many times, stained and wash-thin, with holes and tears in it, showing tempting glimpses of the man’s smooth grey torso. The hem barely covered the barkeep’s lithe upper thighs, especially with the way he was sitting, cross-legged on the fur and straw. There were no sleeves, exposing the slim and well-defined shoulders and arms. 

Rendar’s sharp handsome face looked hardened, distant, and in the torchlight the Nord could see there was a gorgeous bloom of a dark purple bruise on his cheek, crusted blood beneath his strong nose. He was leaning back against the wall, narrow chin slightly raised, his tilted burning eyes half-closed. His dark hair was loose and falling messily to his shoulders. His elegant feet were bare. He looked like a lascivious dream. 

Kordin touched the dagger-hilt at his waist, remembering his last trip to the dungeons during the war, when he’d been allowed to take out his aggressions on a handsome young Imperial man with fine olive flesh and flashing brown eyes. How he had sobbed as Kordin had seen to him, and pleaded for his life, to no avail.

“Hello, gorgeous,” he greeted the Dunmer.

The grey-skin opened his riveting eyes. His lips parted in shock. Then they closed, and anger crept into his face, along with the beginnings of a very attractive flush.

“You,” he said, raspily. “What are you doing here?”

“Just visiting the loveliest mer in Windhelm,” replied Kordin lightly. “Heard you got yourself in some trouble. How’re you doing?”

“Fuck off,” the Dunmer practically spat.

“No need to be so rude.” 

Kordin approached the cell and used his key to open it. 

“Get away from me.”

Rendar shrank into the wall, pulling his legs up to his chest. They hadn’t left him his loincloth, and his soft genitals were now almost fully visible.

Kordin came into the cell, letting the door clang shut behind him.

“Oh, you know I could never resist seeing you, Rendar,” he said, stepping closer to him. “I rushed here as soon as I heard you were locked up.”

He took the trapped elf’s face in his hand, stroked the side of his jaw with a finger. Rendar winced.

The Nord kissed his pressed lips gently. 

“Leave me,” Rendar demanded, shoving at him. 

Kordin caught his lean, bruise-mottled forearms, then lifted one hand and kissed the pretty, rough knuckles.

“I’d never do that, gorgeous. Besides, I have a little job to do. Yes, I know I said I just wanted to see you. I’m afraid I wasn’t entirely truthful.”

“What’d’ya mean, ‘a job’?” sputtered Rendar, his red eyes widening.

“Yes, a job,” Kordin smiled, crowding in close to the Dunmer. “You injured the brother of the Jarl’s most loyal man. You’re a bold, wild little thing, and you badly need to be punished. You’re lucky I’ll be the only one here to see it, and you’ll get to keep some of that precious dignity of yours. With what you did, a public beating wouldn’t be out of the question.”

“I--that bastard started it. There were witnesses. There were--”

Kordin grabbed the back of his head, taking a hard handful of dark hair, shut him up with an aggressive kiss.

“You know that doesn’t matter,” he whispered, breaking the kiss, then pulling out an unenchanted Daedric dagger. “Now, hold still.” He grinned wide, stroked a finger along the elf’s pretty jawbone. “You’ll need to be naked for this, my dear.”

The mer’s ruby eyes widened, and he sucked in a breath. The thin tunic was pathetically easy to slice away. As he had on the first night Kordin took him, Rendar winced and shuddered at the cold knife’s light caress against his silky ashen flesh. Kordin was shuddering, too, but with lust, as he bared the lean body, and his cock was now straining in his leather armor.

Soon, every part of the mer was revealed. The trim, work-hardened torso, the limp genitals, the wiry legs. There were bruises forming on his chest, belly, and his left upper thigh, evidence of how hard he’d fought Rolff Stone-Fist. Kordin could not help feeling another rush of admiration for the barkeep’s bravery.

Rendar’s face was blushing hard, high on his prominent cheekbones. He tried to hide his most private areas with his hands.

“No need for any of that modesty, pretty thing,” Kordin chided, moving the elf’s hands away from his crotch and brushing a gentle palm over the vulnerable parts beneath., “I’ve seen it all already, haven’t I? I’ve had my prick in you. I’ve seen you getting fucked. Seen your beautiful cock and balls plenty of times.”

The Dunmer gritted his teeth. His angular face looked as hard and determined as Ravyn Imyan’s ever had.

“Why’d they let you in here?”

“I told you.” Kordin took a lock of Rendar’s coarse dark hair and caressed it. “You require punishment. And I’m the lucky man to give it to you. Now, get on your hands and knees, my troublesome grey-skin.”

Rendar glared. Kordin gave his already-red face a hearty slap, on the bruised side, making his head rock back. The mer hissed.

“All fours, Rendar. I’m not saying it again.”

Reluctantly, slowly, the elf turned to support himself on his hands and knees, the back of his bare vulnerable body facing Kordin. The Nord salivated at the sight of the fit, slim back, the dense little round ass, the lean thighs, and what he could see of his hanging genitals.

“Perfect,” he said, stroking the mer’s leg, from his thigh down to his long pretty foot, stroking the sole. “Just fucking perfect. You have no idea just how good you look like this. Elenil really is a fortunate man, to have you every night.”

Rendar didn’t dignify that with a response.

Kordin stepped back, reached into his bag, and took out the thick whip he had chosen for the elf’s discipline. It would create deliciously awful bruises and welts, but was unlikely to break the fine grey skin.

Without a word of warning, he lashed Rendar horizontally across his back.

The tough braided leather cracked loudly against the smooth skin just below the shoulders. Rendar favored the Nord’s opening effort with a loud grunt of pain. His shoulder-blades winced together, and his balance on his hands nearly faltered. Kordin laid the next stroke a bit lower, to another erotic pained grunt, and a sudden dip of the Dunmer’s back, which inadvertently caused his ass to stick up and his thighs to spread enough to show his dangling balls.

“Very nice,” Kordin remarked, “Show it all off to me, my love. You have nothing to be ashamed of. So fucking beautiful.”

Another blow, to his shoulders this time. Rendar groaned. None of the other prisoners seemed to heed the distressed mer. Perhaps it would have been fun to hear jeers and catcalls at the Dunmer’s expense, but Kordin was equally happy to leave this between himself and the insolent and beautiful elf.

The Nord laid half a dozen more sharp blows across the man’s broad but slim shoulders and upper back, watching him squirm into himself at each heavy stroke. The places he struck turned paler than the dark skin around them, then blushed deep grey-pink.

“You take it well,” he said, grinning. Rendar ignored the comment.

He placed the next lash lower on his back, then overlaid it one, two, three, four times. Uncountable strokes, further darkening the delectable purple-red emerging from beneath the ashen flesh. Rendar gave a deep low cry of agony each time, finally collapsing on his elbows, forcing his backside up temptingly higher.

Kordin took this as a hint from whatever Daedric Prince might be looking out at him, if any.

“Oh, just look at that ass,” he murmured, licking his lips.

So he turned enthusiastic attention to the mer’s buttocks, a sweet pair, even if not as round or prominent as Sero’s. Slim and muscled with a good curve, a tiny bit of plumpness, too. 

He reckoned that ass could take a lot. He laid the whip hard across it, making the back of Rendar’s body jump, hearing a cry from the elf that went right to his groin. 

He did it again. The elf’s cheeks clenched hard, and he made a sound halfway between a yell and a gasp. 

Liking this sound just as much as the last one, Kordin continued whipping that pretty compact ass, with a relentless cracking rhythm. Rendar’s fine buttocks flinched appealingly each time the heavy leather made its sharp impact. Thick angry reddening stripes were coming up on the silky grey, rapidly covering both halves of the Dunmer’s rump as Kordin repeatedly struck him.

The mer’s ass was now good and red all over, and likely to bruise wonderfully, but those trim and fit thighs still demanded and deserved attention. Kordin salivated at the ever-enticing ashen grey skin over the slim muscle, and he itched to turn it crimson.

He whipped the tops of Rendar’s thighs, causing him to yell and press his face into his folded arms on the furs. None of the other prisoners reacted to his cries, perhaps not wanting to draw Kordin’s attention, though none were appealing enough to him to warrant it. Only the pretty, suffering mer mattered. 

Kordin whipped him again across his trim thighs, loving those pained sounds he tried to muffle in the furs on the dungeon floor. Rendar’s thighs trembled with each blow, turned as sweetly red as his ass and back, and finally Kordin’s carefully-placed sharp strokes began to provoke the start of hard sobs. This, of course, only bolstered the Nord’s already intense excitement.

The Nord stood listening to Rendar’s weeping, admiring the wide red stripes that covered his ass, back and thighs. As he watched the elf’s back and legs shake, he noticed the thickness of the whip handle in his sweating hand. It was wood wrapped in twisted leather, about as thick as his own prick.

He fished in his bag, took out a vial of oil, and coated the handle minimally with it. 

Kordin squatted down on the furs behind the crying mer and ran a hand over one reddened, welted cheek of his rump. He moved it aside to expose the dark little pucker, stroked it tenderly.

“I think it might be best to punish the inside of your pretty ass too. I think you’ll learn your lesson a lot better that way.”

He prodded the hole with the oiled end of the whip. Rendar whimpered as the handle was steadily inserted into his tight back passage. Kordin shoved it in all the way, hard, to a strangled high cry, and renewed weeping. He began to fuck the teary Dunmer with it, pumping it rapidly in and out of the stretched ring, watching the dark ridged delicate skin turn purple-red as the rough leather rubbed it.

“Think of this next time you let your temper fly, elf,” he said, pushing the handle in, pulling it out, repeating the motion at least a dozen times, while Rendar’s sobs grew in volume and desperation. He yanked the handle out. The grey-skin screamed.

Kordin wiped the whip-handle on the rags of Rendar’s prison tunic.

He thought about Rendar’s thick mouth, about how much he wanted those sweet grey lips around his throbbing cock. So he reached down and grabbed that dark coarse hair, pulled the Dunmer around so he was facing Kordin, on his knees. His chiseled face was streaked with tears, the skin around his angled ruby eyes pinkened from crying. His mouth trembled. He was unbelievably beautiful.

Kordin kissed each of the elf’s wet eyes, licked the salty rivulets from his cheeks, and kissed that lush, shaking mouth, flicking his tongue between the lips. He pulled back and met the Dunmer’s glittering eyes.

“You taste so sweet, Rendar. I could look at you forever.”

Rendar looked down, biting his lip. The whole back of his body must have stung fiercely, not to mention the burn in his abused hole. 

“Since I took so much time to give you what you earned tonight, I think I deserve a little reward, don’t you, love?”

“What’re--” Rendar suppressed a sob, “--what’re you gonna do?”

“It’s what you’re going to do, grey-skin.” 

Kordin stood and took his cock from the front of his pants. It was very hard, with a good amount of pre-come at the tip.

The elf looked up at him with growing fear in his eyes. Kordin smiled and yanked on on his hair again to pull him up so that his face was level with his crotch. He stroked the tip of his ear with one hand and with the other rubbed the leaking tip of his cock over the Dunmer’s gorgeous mouth, painting it with clear fluid. The feel of the soft lips on his sensitive head was wonderful.

“Better be gentle, my dear, or you’ll find a dagger in your neck.”

Rendar opened his mouth without a fight, and Kordin slid his cock in. At the same time, he again wrapped his fist around the grey-skin’s hair, pulling him in till his lips brushed his balls. The elf didn’t gag.

“Elenil really is fortunate. I know this is gonna be good.”

He began to fuck the wet warm mouth as if it were Rendar’s tight ass.

“Look at me with those handsome eyes.”

Rendar met his gaze with shining, wet, shamed eyes. 

The Nord’s cock slid along the mer’s flattened tongue, down to his throat, then out again so that only the head remained inside, then back in again, deep. Rendar’s damp mouth pursed beautifully around his shaft as his prick moved in and out. Kordin used his coarse hair like reins to direct him as he pumped into his mouth. 

“Tighten up,” he growled. The elf obeyed. “Mmm. Good little grey-skin.” He thrust into the snug orifice, again, again, again. Saliva ran from the sides of Rendar’s mouth. “I love you when you’re like this.”

He tugged roughly on the Dunmer’s dark locks, grunting with pleasure as he railed his hot little mouth. Fresh tears leaked from the man’s red eyes. Kordin only fucked his face faster, silently daring him to gag or lose control and bite. He didn’t. His mouth remained soft and moist and tight, his luscious lips puckered around the shaft.

Kordin came hard and long, filling the Dunmer’s mouth. His whole body thrilled with the climax.

He pulled out, smearing Rendar’s face with come and spit. 

“You should sell that fucking sweet mouth,” He said.

He slapped Rendar, causing more semen to dribble from the corners of his lips.

“Now, swallow. And then clean your face off with your tongue.”

Malthyr Elenil paced behind the bar after another nearly-sleepless night. There was light wet snow falling outside the windows and the sun was half-covered in pale clouds. He found himself vacillating between anger at Ambarys—what had he been thinking, attacking a guard where everyone could see?—and it was just like him to get pulled into a fight by that s’wit Stone-Fist, to begin with!—and deep anxiety about what could be happening to him right now. 

Ambarys should have known better, should have walked away. After all, he had been threatened with arrest recently, the last time he’d kicked a drunken Nord traveler out for bothering customers. 

He had been right to do it. The man had been spilling people’s drinks on purpose, calling them slurs, trying to touch the women, and making vulgar remarks to them. Idesa Sadri had had to slap him. Nothing they hadn’t seen before from Nords who visited the Quarter. 

Malthyr had helped his lover drag the bastard out and had been glad to do it, But he hadn’t thought it was especially wise for Ambarys to kick him in the ass so hard he fell and broke his nose. The only reason they had gotten off with a warning and a fine they couldn’t afford was because the Nord was just a passing adventurer, with no money or connections in town. 

He heard a key turn. Ambarys stepped through, his face bruised, with brown old blood under the nose, and his hair tied messily at the back of his head. His eyes were puffy. Still, he was as beautiful as ever, and Malthyr felt great joy at the sight of him, relief at seeing him at all.

When Malthyr embraced him, he winced. 

“They whipped my back,” he explained, turning somewhat red.

“Come on.”

They went upstairs and he told Ambarys to strip and lay on his front on the bed. The other mer did it without saying much.

His entire back, ass, and the backs of his thighs were covered in bruises and dark red marks. Malthyr’s breath caught. It looked more painful than anything he’d ever experienced, except perhaps during their ordeal at the hands of the Dragonborn. 

Malthyr got him a healing potion and took a bottle of soothing oil out of a drawer. He sat on the side of the bed as his lover drank the potion.

“So this is what they did to you?” he asked, stroking the bruised mer’s back. 

“That and worse,” said Ambarys, his voice dark, bitter.

“By the Three,” Malthyr muttered, “Those fucking bastards. I’d like to kill the fetchers.” He rubbed the mer’s ass. “I can’t say I’m not tempted to add to what you have here, though.”

“What’d’ya mean?”

“Did you really attack a guard? And nearly break Stone-Fist’s face?”

“Yes,” sighed Ambarys.

Malthyr gave his buttocks a light smack, mindful of the bruises.

“Never do that kind of thing again. I was so fucking worried.” 

His lover looked back at him, glaring.

“That bastard Stone-Fist started all the trou--”

Malthy calmly gave his abused ass another swat, a bit sharper this time.

“You didn’t need to nearly kill him.”

“Gimme a gods-damned break, Malthyr--”

Another smack, not too hard, but hard enough for Ambarys’s lovely ass to clench.

“By fucking Azura!”

“C’mon,” Malthyr laughed a bit at him as he laid down another spank. “You know you’d do the same to me, if I were so foolish as to act as you did.”

Ambarys seem to ponder that.

“Yes, probably,” he muttered, putting his head down. “Damn you.”

His lover smacked his rear again.

“And I’d expect it,” Malthyr added. 

Malthyr smacked his ass one last time, very sternly. Then he coated his hands in oil and massaged it into the skin all over the back of Ambarys’s body, He used what little healing magic he knew to help diminish the marks on the beautiful flesh. As he tended to him, Ambarys told him, in flat, succinct sentences, exactly what the Dragonborn had done.

“I’d like to fucking kill him. The man is—he’s evil, Malthyr. I don’t care that they say he stopped the dragons.”

“I know, Ambarys, I know.”

“Been reading up on Destruction. If he comes back in here, I’ll burn that smug handsome face off, I swear to the Three.”

“You’ll do no such thing. They’d execute you, and you know it.”

Ambarys was quiet. The soothing strokes of Malthyr’s hands turned to caresses, then an embrace and a series of passionate kisses to Ambarys’s neck and face. Malthyr turned him on his side, pressed their bodies together. Ambarys wrapped his arms around his lover and kissed him in return.

“So glad to have you back,” Malthyr said, touching his face, using the last of his magicka to cause the bruise there to fade.

He crept down Ambarys’s body to find his half-hard cock.

“Maybe you didn’t mind getting your ass slapped so much. Or was it the massage? Or the kisses? Hmm?”

“All of it,” murmured Ambarys. “You gonna suck me, or what?”

“Happily.”

Malthyr suckled teasingly at his lover’s cock-head, toying with his balls at the same time. He licked all over the velvety head, just the way he knew Ambarys liked, relishing the taste of his pre-come.

“I was worried I’d never taste this again,” he murmured,

Ambarys laughed, forcefully cupping the back of his head, shoving him further onto his cock.

“So, taste it.”

As Malthyr enthusiastically stimulated him with his mouth, Ambarys curled fingers in his lover’s slicked hair. Malthyr sucked hard and fast, moving his mouth quickly up and down and giving special attention to the head each time, as was Ambarys’s preference. The feel of the other man’s hand gripping his hair only made the experience better. As he moved on Ambarys, he tried his best to rub himself off against the bed. Soon enough--or maybe too soon—the other mer came long hot spurts of salty come in his mouth, which he swallowed with a lewd grin up at Ambarys.

“That was fucking wonderful,” his lover said, “Come here, let me jerk you.”

Malthyr knew how much Ambarys liked to play with him with his hands, so he slipped back up beside him, let Ambarys yank his pants off, and thrilled to the insistent pressure of his closed fist, accompanied by wet rough tongue-kisses. It didn’t take him long to shoot his load all over the other elf’s hand. Ambarys licked it up, then kissed him.

They fell asleep messy.


End file.
